Fulfilling a Prophecy
by Hollywood Phoenix
Summary: *NEW CH: 7, 8 (Wes, Cordy's POVs)* If you're an Angel worshipper, you might want to read ch 8. And if you're a C/A fan, absolutely. Set after 'Sleep Tight', deconstructs the events that occur after it. From various characters' POV. Plz plz plz R&R? =)
1. Yesteryears (Cordelia's POV)

**Fulfilling A Prophecy**  
Chapter 1: Yesteryears _(POV: Cordelia Chase)_

by Hollywood Phoenix

  


Want to post this story? Please email me at: hollywoodphoenix@yahoo.com for permission. Thanks.   
Premise: Considers Connor's unwitting leap into the hellish dimension and his subsequent return.  
Rating: PG for this chapter, but R for subsequent chapters.   


~~*~~*~~ @ ~~*~~*~~

  


I remember it as if it were yesterday. The glitz of a Hollywood party. The predestined meet. The pain of foresight. The comfort and laughter. The solidification of a family.

  


A grand hotel, looming majestically against a midnight blue backdrop. Its 'swiveling' double doors, leading to a prophecy ordained; to an unwitting leap into a hellish dimension, followed by endless unanswered questions. And after that, the emptiness that will never be filled; the intense pain.

  


Yet, I continue to walk along the still very clear path to those doors. I'm pushing past the doors into the lobby, which is dark and dusty and so very quiet. I'm walking across the floor experimentally, listening to the echoes from the clicks of my heels.

  


When I'm at the counter, I peer over, half expecting a smiling face or some kind of greeting to emerge from the shadows. I peek into the cluttered, but empty office, and can't go in.

  


Although it's not the real truth, this is where I believe it began.

  


A tiny black spider lands on my hand and bites me. Feeling the pierce and redness puffing up, I jump, effectively brushing the insect aside. The dust is swirling around me in the air now, and too overwhelmed to breathe deeply, I find myself opening doors leading to the courtyard.

  


Sunlight is filtering in again. I step outside.

  


In the warmth of the sun, I am slowly circling around. All around me are unkempt trees and bushes that have turned a dull brown. There are also weeds that were once flowers scattered everywhere; they have long since dried out and lost all their bloom. I find litter along the trail, a little out of place, but fitting right into the setting.

  


But the worst that I see are the brown vines that are so gnarled and ensnared with each other, I wonder if they can ever be saved.

  


I no longer want to bask in the sun. I turn back and run.

  


Back under a cool shield again, I double-check to make sure the courtyard doors are sealed and locked up tight. No fear of anything getting in.

  


Or out.

  


Looking back into the dim foyer, I am comforted again. My eyes rest on the once brilliantly red carpet on the stairs, and it beckons to me.

  


That is when I see the memory of a black covering that has descended. Suffocating. Inescapable.

  


So I climb up the winding staircase of this long abandoned hotel. And I travel from one locked room to another. As I pause in front of one in particular, I smell the faint wisps of smoke and decay.

  


It's been 15 years since our sweet baby was taken from us. An innocent caught up in a war that was started long before life breathed in him and borne of a prophecy he could not escape.

  


A prophecy that had no alternative but to be fulfilled.

  


It's not so obvious how it was done. Enemies and friends alike thought it would be through the demon brewing within the dark Angel; his threatening hate boiling under the deceivingly congenial surface. No one expected it to be out of his humanity, his unwavering and exhausting love, or the unrelenting hope.

  


Just as no one expected to see my beautiful infant again.

  


And we never did. Because Connor, the months-old child, never emerged from the fiery depths of the unknown dimension; it was Connor, the full-grown man. He survived. But he returned broken.

  


I am still stopped in the same spot in front of the same room. It is the one in which his crib used to be. The one that blew up into smoke and sparked a cataclysmic chain of destruction. After he became attached to me. Before I ever really knew him.

  


I place a hand on the heavy wooden door. The full-grown man now clings to me. He remembers me. I was his surrogate mother. I welcome him with open arms. And his unheard sobs are reserved for me, as I hold his body closer to mine. I am his savior. 

  


The man. The Hero. My beloved. I shelter him. I protect them. They encompass me. I have learned how I redeem them both.

  


I charge towards the old room and splinters fly from the unyielding door. As I dig myself in, my hands become bloody and bruised. 

  


Yes, I've changed.

  


Through picking up the fractured pieces and surviving a series of subtle and gradual transformations, a new being has formed. I look at myself in a pool of water, in a makeshift mirror, to reaffirm what gazes back. So, there is still the same wide hazel eyes I used to flutter to manipulate men to do my bidding, the brown hair I obsessed about, the haughty stature that commanded minions. There is the trademark mouth that can break into a breathtakingly wide and inspiring smile if I try; if I lie. Beneath the faintly lined skin and beyond my hidden insecurities and superficial misconceptions, churns the same sharp mind. Beats the same sheltered heart. Wields the same wealth of power.

  


A mind that is now dulled through emotions. A heart that is now free for the taking. A power that refuses to die. A blank reflection I barely recognize.

  


But I'm still the lucky one. At least I can be seen.

  


The father watches our desperate associations from afar. He's always wished for this, yet I know him. He will never be fully satisfied, as with everything else in his extended afterlife. How did it get so complicated? How did six little words come to have so much impact?

  


When did it become a battle between father and son?

  


Because neither can win. For I love the father. And I love the son. While I can have one, I dream and long for the other. In the purest recesses of my mind, I know the truth: I'll always have neither. And they'll never have the real me.

  


I am in the room and suddenly, I am burying myself in the furthest, most dark-filled corner. One that has no air and will never set me free.

  


My boy now looks like his father, only older. He's lived as long as me, a lifetime of horror and unimaginable suffering. One that he cannot speak of but believes only I will silence. Thus, from the mouths of hell and back, he has attained the crippling scars that his father brandishes and tried protecting him from.

  


Except one. It is the critical mark, that is only deepening through time and intense jealousy and unsurpassable, overwhelming guilt.

  


It can only be this that wounds so accurately. That bonds them together. That divides the father from the son.

  


That will eternally kill them both.

  


Which leads to the inevitable conclusion; from now, till the end of this agonizing existence. It is a prophecy being fulfilled.

  


~~X~~X~~ * ~~X~~X~~

  


A/N: This is a repost... but it's longer and hopefully better than the last version. I've been obsessing about this possible outcome since the latest depressing ep. of Angel.   
Disclaimers: I just write 'em. 

  


(c) March 7, 2002, updated March 16, 2002   
  
Liked this story? Check out my other fanfics at http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=169482   
Thanks for reading! I'm much obliged for any constructive feedback you can give me. 


	2. The Father (Angel's POV)

**Fulfilling A Prophecy**  
Chapter 2: The Father _(Angel's POV)_

by Hollywood Phoenix

  


Want to post this story? Please email me at: hollywoodphoenix@yahoo.com for permission. Thanks.   
Spoilers: Season 3 ep 'Sleep Tight' 

~~*~~*~~ @ ~~*~~*~~

  


She's crossing the invisible line that has existed for years.

  


It's not often that I get visitors, but now, she's come to visit me in my new home.

  


She has a favour to ask. I can see it in her head, as she tries to get it out. But she won't say anything because I know her. It's in her nature to be blunt and unreserved, but she believes that I might snap. She forgets that I'm not as ignorant and unassuming about her as I used to be.

  


I know what she wants to ask.

  


My thoughts are transported to the Hyperion, to its shiny rails and gleaming floor. I think of how it started out empty and then gradually started bustling with all forms of life. And I think of the light that shined inwards and out.

  


She wants to go. She wants me to return with her.

  


Her motives are that she wants someone to accompany her and it has to be me. Even though there's someone else she can ask, she wants me.

  


If only she knew how much this touches me.

  


Since our paths crossed, I have always been her closest friend. Her only friend, until he returned.

  


He returned for her. There's no one else for him. There would be no other reason.

  


In front of me, I watch them interact with each other in their corners. I roam the city, forever at night, a silent observer. From my vantage point on rooftops, I follow them everywhere.

  


I have attained the furtive shamefulness of a voyeur now, and part of me thinks of how wrong this is. I smell him on her, a mix of something like my own, yet not quite me. With my extra perceptive senses, I can hear them, even from the streets outside her apartment building.

  


I want to stop. I tell myself to end the madness and move on. To get away from her. I am dangerously close to losing what I am as I bludgeon and destroy everything evil and wrong with my world until I can change things. I expect to find myself one day lying naked and battered and tormented and broken.

  


And so alone. Because she was never mine and he ceased to be mine a long time ago.

  


Only in my mind, I see them together.

  


In my most private innermost regions, I imagine myself in his place. I am the one running a hand casually along the side of her face, burying my nose in her hair, resting my hand on the curve at her waist. Making her gasp and cry with pain and pleasure.

  


He couldn't know her like I do. He's been away, he left her, he has no claim on her.

  


I'm quite aware, neither do I.

  


I'm living vicariously through him. But I would never hurt him. Regardless of the envy, I love him and all that he represents. He is a gift, my miracle. Everything about me that is good and pure.

  


I've succumbed to the demon that I am. I shake my head vigorously; I won't go with her. I can't ever return to that former state of almost ignorant bliss.

  


She turns away, her body relaxed and seemingly unaffected. The brief flicker in her eyes belie this reaction. There is the bittersweet disappointment and everlasting sorrow. I've caused this for her. I always do this to her. She won't try to change my mind anymore. And she'll always understand me.

  


I fear the consequences. I have to stay away. From my memories. From my pain. From her. From him.

  


The only thing I feel now is a relief knowing that the prophecy will never be fulfilled.

  


~~X~~X~~ * ~~X~~X~~

  


A/N: Sorry for any confusion earlier. I rewrote chapter 1 and this is the real chapter 2. Thx for bearing with me!:)   
Disclaimers: Not mine 

  


(c) March 17, 2002   
  
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	3. The Son (Connor's POV)

**Fulfilling A Prophecy**  
Chapter 3: The Son _(Connor's POV)_

by Hollywood Phoenix

  


Want to post this story? Please email me at: hollywoodphoenix@yahoo.com for permission. Thanks.   


~~*~~*~~ @ ~~*~~*~~

  


And so I am back. I fly through a rift of time and space and hell, and emerge victorious. Or so I wish.

  


I don't go to the place that has been the only real home to me ever. I know that he's moved, since he lost me to impossible odds those seven years ago. His friends are all gone, except one. It doesn't matter to him, because she's the only one that could have seen him through all these years anyway. She's taken him into her home.

  


He looks at me, disbelieving at first. He sees his own face staring back, finally aged to maturity. She doesn't hesitate at all. I am drawn to her immediately, falling on my knees before her, resting my head on her belly.

  


The endless barrage of questions and impossible explanations follow. So that I don't confuse them, I tell them that I'm their son. And that's not really a lie.

  


I can't tell them the truth of how I escaped. The horrors of what I've gone through, what I needed to do, and the decisions I'm resolved to fulfill. I can't explain the real reason why I made my way back. I can't tell them anything of my past or present or future. Because I know it will change. Because it has to. He suspects something and doesn't trust me. I'm on a mission.

  


Since I've come back, I find myself detracted from it. I know the price of this leap back. But I never realized the dangers.

  


I find myself able to touch her again. She reaches a hand up to my chest every so often to assure herself that I am real. That I exist. Like a moth to an all-consuming flame, I find myself enraptured by her.

  


The walls in her apartment whispers promises of a time long ago. Three beings in one place become too much of a crowd and he leaves. For the first time in his lifetime, he does it without a glance back. I think it might be a fatal mistake.

  


He takes up space in an abandoned bombshelter that was built by radicals in the 1950's. I can't say that he's living there because he stopped doing that since I returned. As a consequence of that or for other reasons, she's not content either. She will never say it, but she doesn't want me anymore. I try so hard but I can't ever make her happy again. I take some comfort knowing that neither will he.

  


Nothing has been revealed to her, either by me or through her visions. Through her own perceptive nature, she guesses and knows what she, he, and I must do. Yet, he doesn't. And I find myself not knowing anymore either. I want her so much, I can't bear to let her go just yet. She understands that all too well and time starts to slip away.

  


Eventually I need to catch it again. I came back for a reason; I came to bring about the inevitable. Coming back here, I only thought of the empty pang that once was the reality of her. Staying here, that's all I have. Just for a little while longer.

  


I am resolved to do what I have to. I will one day remove myself from her warmth and the beauty of her. To save her, to save him, to save us all, I will do it so that the prophecy can be fulfilled.

  


  


~~X~~X~~ * ~~X~~X~~

  


A/N: If this is confusing you then I'm really sorry. I'm trying to set it up because there's a whole story arc I've got planned but don't want to give too many clues away all at once. Please let me know what you think.   
Disclaimers: Don't own it. 

  


(c) March 17, 2002 - Happy St Paddy's Day!   
  
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	4. Deconstruction (Lorne's POV)

**Fulfilling A Prophecy**  
Chapter 4: Deconstruction _(Lorne's POV)_

by Hollywood Phoenix

  


Want to post this story? Please email me at: hollywoodphoenix@yahoo.com for permission. Thanks.   


~~*~~*~~ @ ~~*~~*~~

  


There's no place like L.A.

  


I'm breathing in that plastic air again, emitted by the fake boobs and vacuous bodies, and dream-only-to-climb-trees. I've been roaming around this side of the world since I left my only home and no where else have I seen such outrageously scene-stealing demons. New York can't hold a candle and Toronto only has vamps. I'm feeling good to be back in this hell-forsaken town.

  


Except for one small detail. The fact that I came back for a funeral.

  


It's short. It's a simple affair. Parents arrive. Friends from a long forgotten past come to watch. Everyone wonders what happened to her taste after all these years. If only they knew.

  


She lies there, in her porcelian white skin, with her mahogany brown tresses, hiding scars under those shut eyes and pouty lips that will never be in the spotlight again. She was a pretty little kitten, highly intelligent, insightful, god forbid anyone to call her sweet, and attracted to pretty little things.

  


Not one of these people out in this open space knows of the real darkness within her.

  


Reason being that everyone besides myself who even glimpsed this never believed it or is gone now. Then again, I wonder if she ever let anyone really see it. The dual horrors she experienced from the past, the terrifyingly cold gift of foreshadowing she possessed. Her can't-get-me down attitude battling with the naive disappointment of her world.

  


That disappointment was something we all seemed to share.

  


What a shame she didn't stay a pretty little thing.

  


I don't even bother listening to the minister as I stand there in the back, in my black shades, absurd fedora and trench coat. Sure, half the guests know what I'm not, but it's comforting for me to be anonymous.

  


I think he feels that way too.

  


Obscured underneath a tree in broad daylight, he's watching a tiny and extremely nervous red-headed chickadee lean on a slightly larger brown-haired fluff-pie. He's gaging the look of shock and sorrow on their faces as they blindly stumble away from the manicured greens and stone walls. The darkness emanating from him is so palpable, you could fry a hundred evil demons. Make that a thousand.

  


I consider seeking him out, calling him 'sweet nuthin' or something to get some other reaction from him. But I don't need to, because suddenly he's standing there with me, gazing at the shiny headstone, the only two figures still in front of a fresh grave-site.

  


Here I was worried he wouldn't be stealth-like anymore.

  


With the sun bearing fully down on him, standing so much closer to me, I study him. He's aged quite a bit over the years, hunching over a bit more, losing that roguish boyishness that sent many hearts aflutter and broke countless more. He's lost the inner liveliness that I want to remember.

  


I don't think I'll be asking him to sing for me.

  


Just like I don't know what to say to him. To tell him I'm sorry for his loss would just be mocking him. Knowing what I know, I can't pull a single useless piece of advice out of my ass. So I start opening and closing my mouth. Letting air in and out. Ranting about how no one appreciates the underdog anymore. Maybe that's the reason why my last comedy routine didn't do so well. All the while wondering how much longer I have to keep this farce up.

  


Luckily for me, not for long. He cuts to the chase, telling me he's found a way to end this nightmare.

  


I know how he's going to do it. There's only one way to bring her back the way she was, so I find myself asking him what impossible answers he's going to give to their very probable questions. Looking the way he does, how will he convince her not to make him do it all over again? And how is he not going to touch her, now that he finally can?

  


It's all pouring out of his mouth now. He's telling me how useless he was to her. How she saved him but he couldn't do the same for her. That he just as good as killed her. Because he destroyed himself first.

  


I never drank to get high or down or anything. But if there's a time I need a good stiff drink, it's now.

  


I'm a good listener. Reading auras was my thing.

  


He's saying that he never knew what real redemption was until he had it, then lost it. He's jabbering nonsense about fulfilling a prophecy now, about finding a way to kill his humanity. He's telling me that he'll lie and tell the hidden truth; that having his son back will be enough for him.

  


I try to tell him that prophecies are tricky things. But he's made up his mind already.

  


He's just shaking his head non-stop, jammering on about dimming the bright lights and inner redemption and how he'll keep getting screwed over by the Powers That Be and those divinations disguised as prophecies.

  


Even without striking a tune, I feel his pain all too well. Now I'm just shaking my head and laughing insanely at how this life never changes and screaming one word over and over again.

  


No.

  


He stops. I look up. I didn't say that.

  


A hooded figure in an almost black cloak is floating over towards us. In the warmth of day, a chill freezes over.

  


It speaks again, telling him that he's in denial. That he has to start at the beginning. Deconstruct the prophecy. That he should accept it and stop wasting his time.

  


She's forming a cold, hard truth.

  


Strange how I can tell it's a she. Stranger still that I'm feeling safe and comforted again.

  


Her assured words mean nothing to me. But the colours and sounds she's uttering are peace.

  


She's holding out a hand. She's asking him to listen. She's pleading with him to understand.

  


She wants him to trust her.

  


Like a pesky firefly, he brushes her away and readies himself to make his second leap into oblivion. He's only looking back at the bright lights and forward at the total darkness.

  


Before my ruby red irises, he's suddenly disappeared and when I look for my would-be savior, she is gone too. Taking this as a cue, I head for the well-marked exit. If everyone else leaves a burning building, I'm not brave enough to be the only one to stick around.

  


As I turn my back away from the cemetary, this city, this life, I keep trying to tell myself that once upon a time, LA used to be mine.

  


~~X~~X~~ * ~~X~~X~~

  


A/N: Okay, this is hurting even my head. I don't know how I'm gonna keep this up much longer, giving out little clues here and there. If you're trying to get the timeline straight, I'm very sorry because I just knocked out a curveball. Let me know if you want me to finish the whole thing first and then post it all at once. BTW, thanks everyone, for bearing with me and encouraging me even though you're probably just as confused as our poor beleaguered hero(es). And I guess we've established that I'm a sucker for character depression.   
Disclaimers: Don't own it. 

  


(c) March 20, 2002   
  
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Thanks for reading! In pursuit of improvement and to keep the 'spirits' up, how about writing some feedback? 


	5. Will (Gunn's POV)

**Fulfilling A Prophecy**  
Chapter 5: Will (Gunn's POV)

by Hollywood Phoenix

  


Want to post this story? Please email me at: hollywoodphoenix@yahoo.com for permission. Thanks.   
Spoilers: 3rd season's 'Sleep Tight'  
So far: Lots and lots of confusion. Have you figured out how the timeline's going yet? And please keep the speculations coming! :) 

~~*~~*~~ @ ~~*~~*~~

  


I've never had a Fred before.

  


A Fred that is delicate and pretty and innocent. A girl that seems so fragile but hides enormous strength within. A tiny butterfly that flutters about me like a light glow and settles somewhere in my chest.

  


She's got her glasses perched on the end of her nose while she sits cross-legged on her desk, bent over one dried up piece of paper on top of tons of other ones. Chewing on the bottoms of a few strands of hair, she's mumbling things about fate and visions, forgotten protectors and great leaps into the past, and shanshus and fathers and sons. I can't begin to wrap my brain around these crazy puzzles, but it's obvious that she comprehends these things like no one else and loves them; she's become obsessed with deciphering those prophecies since that night the baby disappeared and more so after the brother, we called our friend, died. Between that and holding the fort, we're in each other's company practically every waking moment. 

  


Only, we don't spend much of it with each other. 

  


I don't mind so much. The best times I have with her are when we're just around each other. Stealing kisses now and again, showing off in front of her, or just holding her tiny hand. Looking at her, I feel how new life feels again. It's kind of like high school, my first crush, my first girl. I've seen a lot of bad things growing up in my hood; a lot of stuff went down but never came back the way they were meant to. Before I knew it, I was leading a revolution in a violent and hard society. People were looking to me to deal with this crazy shit, which was getting worse each day, and all I knew was to keep fighting back, one day at a time. But each day I dealt with it, each time I lost a brother or sister, a little of me started to dull or die away. Each morning I would wake up, thinking that I might not make it to see another sunrise.

  


Then I met my new friends. And the real battle for my life began. Even now, I feel a little guilty for making the decision to abandon my brothers, leaving the old gang to fend for themselves without me. But I made my choice to go another route. It's the same danger, the same evil, but the stakes are different. And for once, I have a Fred.

  


Since I've been around her, whether it's in a greasy diner, the office, an old truck, or a deadly fight with demons, none of the things that used to scare the hell outta me matter. She makes everything bright and shiny again. I don't know what I would do without her.

  


Sometimes I wonder if she feels the same about me.

  


Sure, she likes me. Maybe she even loves me. But she hasn't had much practice being around people or just men. The first crush she ever had was a mouse king in the Nutcracker, and the last one before me? A vampire with a soul. So what does that say about me?

  


Not that I really care. I want to keep her forever. I say a little prayer every morning and night hoping that I can.

  


A loud breeze walks in and the Queen Seer's striding up to us. I can tell that my Fred has something on her mind because she stands up quickly to ask if the vamp with a soul is any better. A quick head shake and the dejected look on her face tell us everything. If anything, it's only downhill from here.

  


Our fearless leader hasn't been fighting with us. Not since his son was taken. Not since our former not-so-fearless leader betrayed us and then left us high and dry to pick up the pieces. Not since the visions came back.

  


I never asked what happened the day Cordy got back. I never questioned why one morning, she showed up in Angel's room. I never understood how in one night, he decided to cling to her and never let go.

  


We're all lost in limbo now. We had a purpose before. I had a purpose before. I traded one for the other, but each ending is the same. It's always just fighting.

  


Suddenly the Seer closes her eyes and before she opens them again, she says a few names. I recognize them immediately.

  


My old crew.

  


Before I know it myself, I'm on my feet, proclaiming that I'll save them. I may not want it anymore, but I know I have to save my old buds, the old life.

  


They seem to sense this because the girl with the visions is telling me not to go. She's warning me that it's too dangerous, too late. She's seen something; it's clear as day in her eyes. But the blood rushing my ears is too loud and I'm not hearing her.

  


I don't know what's gotten into me because I'm running to my truck, like my life depends on it. I can hear them crying after me but I can't stop and I can't look back. I get in and start the engine.

  


And someone climbs in beside me. My Fred.

  


She's smiling at me in that lopsided way that she has and holding my hand. There's no time to get lost in this heaven.

  


When I pull up to my old hangout, there's no one around but there's a fire burning in a can nearby. We get out and walk around, while I call out the familiar names.

  


For the longest time, there's no sound.

  


A noise makes us turn around. A dozen vampires are advancing on us. It's too far to run back to the truck and I curse myself for being so careless, for letting my guard down. Worst of all, for letting my Fred down. We take out our wooden stakes, slowly backing away, but we know it's not enough.

  


I forgot to say my prayer this morning.

  


When I see my old buds again, coming around the corner, I am relieved. I knew they would be there for me when I returned. And they come to stand next to us.

  


But they don't turn their backs to me. And I finally sense that something is terribly wrong.

  


It's dark but I can see that the unfamiliar faces are slowly emerging from the familiar ones. The crowds are approaching, menacing and merging into something blurry. When the lost brothers and sisters of my distant past surround us, I feel Fred reaching out and clutching my hand.

  


As she raises her stake to the same level as mine, she can't stop a tiny whimper of terror. With a silent prayer on my breath, my heart sinks knowing that I won't have my Fred much longer.

  


~~X~~X~~ * ~~X~~X~~

  


A/N: Yeah, this is all intentional. I don't really mean to totally confuse ya, but I want to do a bit of it. I hope the pieces are falling into place with each chapter... please let me know if you're more confused than ever before! Also, I'm trying different POVs to experiment with writing each of the different characters. Angel's my baby :) as you can tell from previous writings, but I'm trying to expand my horizons. Please R&R!! Thanks!   
Disclaimers: Angel characters belong to Joss and David and the WB... phooey. But I like writing about them. 

  


(c) March 23, 2002   
  
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	6. Cotton Candy (Fred's POV)

**Fulfilling A Prophecy**  
Chapter 6: Cotton Candy (Fred's POV)

by Hollywood Phoenix

  


Want to post this story? Please email me at: hollywoodphoenix@yahoo.com for permission. Thanks.   


~~*~~*~~ @ ~~*~~*~~

  


**REDEMPTION WILL BRING BACK THE SON.**

Those six words stared back at me. It wasn't the first time.

I wish I hadn't seen the scrolls that the prophecies were written on. I wish I hadn't read the translations. And I wish I hadn't told him what they all meant.

But I did.

Over the last year I have learned to read these prophecies. This day, last year, was when she came back to him. I don't know why she did, or how she knew, but suddenly she was there with him, breathing life into him again.

I was the one who discovered that she had returned to him. I had taken to the habit of bringing blood to him in the morning, since he lost hope in finding his son. I expected to find him staring out the window, just out of reach from the sunlight, or closed within himself, curled in a dark corner.

I found him in a compromising position instead.

He was lying on his back in his bed, a sad, peaceful expression on his angelic face. His chest was bare and smooth; one hand was entangled in a mass of short brown tresses belonging to the head resting against his heart. His other hand was stroking an equally bare and smooth back. His eyes never left hers.

I had always expected this to happen. I just hadn't really expected it.

I don't know if he saw me. I don't know if she knew I had been there. He lost his hope. She was desperately trying to fill it up for him again. That day, their hearts broke as one.

I left them together, a tiny mouse in a very big, confusing world. None of us ever talked about it. A crucial piece of the fairy tale shattered for me that day.

Now, I've become someone with a mission. I'm on a mad hunt to put all the pieces of the puzzle back together. This includes tearing through senseless prophecies and impossible predictions, researching about shanshus and the Powers That Be, and digging up the long forgotten past. I'm learning stories about a father and son who never got along. It's a painful tale of a 1700's middle-upper class man disappointed with a young, headstrong, Irish lad named Liam.

He doesn't want me to find out. There's a secret in him that he doesn't want me to uncover. Perhaps it's because he doesn't want to uncover it himself. He isn't frightened of many things, but he is terrified of this. Of things to come. Of his past trangressions. Of history repeating itself. Of a prophecy being fulfilled.

Only, I truly believe that he doesn't have to fear it anymore. A glimmer of hope is telling me that the prophecy of the father killing the son has already been fulfilled. I search for proof that only redemption lies ahead.

If only I could be sure.

Charles understands my lack of confidence. He, who is so forthright and confident with himself and his place in the world can understand me, a little girl caught in a fantasy. He guides me in the real world and catches me whenever I stumble. He is my knight in shining armour. And I am his princess. To me, we live in a world of magic and evil sorcery, champions and terrible monsters to be slain, eternal triumph and hope, and kyerumption, moira, and above all else, spine-tingling, wonder-filled, everlasting love.

Sealed with one last kiss. The first of many, happily ever after.

Imagining living in this dream land as if you're eating cotton candy. It's sweet and fuzzy and so gooey melt in your mouth. Afterwards, there is a saccharine after-taste that isn't substantial. Only, you can't help but want more of it. Nonetheless, no matter how much you get, it'll never last long enough.

The jigsaw is becoming complete now, and I know why his redemption comes at a price. If we're not careful, it could destroy us all. Or maybe, it's already begun. Looking back, I wish I hadn't told Angel about those prophecies. Then, I never would have gotten all their hopes up. I didn't mean to, but now that I have, I can't be cruel enough to take it back. If I could have one wish, it would be to forget it all and maybe then, I can continue believing in the fairy tale myself.

  


~~X~~X~~ * ~~X~~X~~

  
Disclaimers: Not mine.   


(c) March 24, 2002   
  
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	7. Kill (Wesley's POV)

**Fulfilling A Prophecy**  
Chapter 7: Kill (Wesley's POV)

by Hollywood Phoenix

  


Want to post this story? Please email me at: hollywoodphoenix@yahoo.com for permission. Thanks.   
So far: Slowly putting the pieces together... 

~~*~~*~~ @ ~~*~~*~~

  


It all begins with a woman's presence. A whisper here. A hello there. A smile. A touch.

Then they go for the kill.

It may be subtle. It's probably intentional. But it'll most certainly make its mark.

With women as skilled as Justine, it makes no difference how they do it. It is only with deliberation. And a clear and cold purpose.

Felled by a slash. Cut to the deep. I never even knew her. My life force bleeds from this first blow.

Fred comes to me, hesitantly, bringing Gunn with her. I see them outside the glass window of my room as I lay on the hospital bed, with wires attached to me every which way, keeping me alive but drawing my will to survive. She is determined to see me and he is desperately trying to prevent it. We used to be so close, this man I hung out with. We had a tacit understanding. He let me into the normal world, I watched his back in the insane one. We've lost the understanding. The greatest battles in life always seem to revolve around a woman.

I watch as he argues with her. When she starts towards me, he pulls at her arm. She resists, pulls away. She is walking swiftly to me, now.

She stands next to me, beside the bed and stares down at my still form. I am conscious but I cannot speak. In her eyes, there's more hesitation because she doesn't know how to start. As I wait, I draw from her quiet strength, a beacon of eternal hope.

She is telling me that she has found the prophecy I interpreted and has shown everyone. But she pleaded my case and although they are angry, they will come around. So sweet and pure, my Fred, like a ray of light.

But she is also a pillar of true purpose. She's now telling me that I was wrong. That despite my good intentions, I was manipulated and learned only of half-truths. That the father has already killed the son.

But then she tells me that I did what I had to do.

She is darker than I gave her credit for. She has hidden it so well these past few months. I see the tall dark man behind the window and wonder if he knows that about her. But of course he doesn't. And when I don't respond for a very long time, she goes to leave with him. But before she does, she says, with a little sadness in her heart, "I wish you had trusted us. I wish you had told us."

And so, the second blow is struck.

Three is all it takes.

How fitting that it be by the hand of my first real friend. A woman whom I love very dearly, whom at one time in my life, I thought I was in love with. But it is an altered love, a mature brotherly one. She still does yield great power over me, although most times, she's unaware of it. Over me, over everyone. Her unconscious hold on the women she associates with and all the men around her, especially him.

And that makes her all the more deadly.

She carelessly tosses onto a chair whatever she used to wrap herself from the cold that has descended around us. Her movements are stiff and jerky. But she places a cold hand on my forehead and smooths it gently.

Oh so tenderly.

She's speaking way too quickly now. Her tone is fevered and strained. She's confiding about visions of death and destruction. Whispers from The Powers That Be to start at the beginning and protect a prophecy by finding answers from the past. And she's telling me that a sceptre is showing her images from his history book. None of what she says is within my comprehension, but it doesn't matter. When she leaves, I am relieved that her burden is gone. But at least she cares. At least she forgives me.

I will remain steadfast by my convictions. I did what I had to do. Like other fathers before him, the father may hate me for ruining his son's life for the rest of his days and mine, but I have stopped a destructive kill.

Yet, staring at the emptiness in my room and the lonely space behind the glass, I wonder if I have exchanged one son's death for another.

It's a disappointing conclusion. For whom this is more so, I hope none of us will ever know. With the stark, mechanical machinery breathing life into me, and the even, depressed lines flowing along on my monitor, I realize that I will never find out.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it's not the women who strike the fatal blows. Maybe it's not even the sons or their fathers. And maybe they were always in my mind.

  


~~X~~X~~ * ~~X~~X~~

  


A/N: Depressing...yeah, I know. But no one's giving me anymore feedback! So are you guys reading and not wanting to say anything in your depression? Or just not reading?   
Disclaimers: Not mine. 

  


(c) March 26, 2002  
  
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Thanks for reading! In pursuit of improvement and to keep the 'spirits' up, how about writing some feedback? 


	8. A Lack of Vision (Cordelia's POV)

**Fulfilling A Prophecy**  
Chapter 8: A Lack of Vision (Cordelia's POV)

by Hollywood Phoenix

  


Want to post this story? Please email me at: hollywoodphoenix@yahoo.com for permission. Thanks.   
If you can't tell, this chapter is my new baby. :)  


~~*~~*~~ @ ~~*~~*~~

  


The suddenness of a vision hits me. I haven't had one of those in a while.

It's during my relaxing vacation with Groo, my hunky hero. I'm lying on the beach, feeling the salty sprays of the open sea in front of me and drinking in the rays of the warm sun. My thoughts drift lazily to the gang I left behind in L.A. My little guy could use a soak in the sun, to bring out the healthy red in his cheeks and a bright glow to his skin. Might as well introduce the finer things in life to him early. What a shame he and everyone else can't be here to enjoy it, although, I can't be certain they would.

Fred would probably be fascinated. She doesn't seem the beach bunny type, considering her pasty white complexion even when she was in the hell that is Pylea. So, I would guess that she'd be in awe, as she is with everything else that's new to her. And she would look really cute and sweet in a bathing suit, but luckily nowhere near as good as me.

I'd imagine Gunn would be pretty excited about going to the beach. After all, it would be a free-for-all eye candy paradise for him. Then again, he has been hanging around Fred a lot as of late, and if I'm not projecting some strange fantasy, I think he's been giving her looks that means he might like her as more than a zany gal pal. Well, if wonders never cease. Okay, amend that. It would be a Fred-for-all eye candy paradise for him. They'd look so cute together.

Only, poor Wesley. Odd man out as usual, he'd probably squint and glare at the sun when he wasn't hiding from it. The man has got to get out more. I thought for sure Fred would be just right, if not perfect for him. Besides, he was so totally insanely head over heels in love with her already. Was I not vision gal or what? But I forgot she has a thing for heroes.

Not like me.

Okay, is this guilt I'm feeling? Over making one tiny little mistake in thinking that Wes had a shot with Fred? Nah, I never felt this way in high school over things like this. Maybe it's because I'm on this vacation and they're not. On second thought, after the year I had been through, if anyone deserved this blissful goodness, it was me.

I look at my hunky hero du jour and watch him playing frisbee with some local California surfer boys. The sun is in my eyes, so all I can make out is the outline of his short spiky hair, his tall, muscular frame... all that salty goodness.

And then wham! Vision hits me. It's a good thing I'm already lying on my chest, otherwise, I would be face forward in sand and so not a pretty sight of embarrassment. It isn't hurting me, but like I said, I haven't had one in a while so it totally threw me.

Okay, focus.

Now I'm seeing another one of my heroes in action. Angel is tracking something creeping in a long dark alley. He's flying from one roof of a building to another, with all the speed, agility and grace that every cheerleader would kill for. Him being on rooftops hasn't happened for a while and I'm surprised to find that I have missed being able to see this. Sometimes I really love my visions. I roll over and lean back to enjoy the show.

He's finally spotted whatever it is he was looking for and leaps off the roof, landing gracefully on the concrete pavement below. After pausing to admire this, I think, what is it this time? A seven eyed beast? A twenty breasted monster? Or a hairy, stinky, six toed creature of the annoyingly undead? Or just something really ugly, like all demons are?

But no, it's just a pesky vampire. Make that twenty pesky vampires.

I sit up in panic, blinking hard, but still seeing my vision. Twenty to one are not exactly stellar odds. In my experience, I know I should wait and watch.

As the vampires approach him, he assesses them, based on stance and physical prowess. He isn't in game face yet and I'm screaming to him in my head that he should be. Why can't these visions send messages the other way too?

The first vampire steps up to him and throws a few punches at him. He dodges them deftly but when a second one comes up he does some quick toe-dancing around them. That's when they all charge at him.

Oh crap, this is so not happening.

Now that he has to deal with the entire horde of twenty, he's flexing his lightening fast reflexes. As a vampire comes after him, another one is pouncing on his back. He flings it off into one direction and a few of them go down. Then, turning to the vampire that's charging him, he ducks and it rolls over his back. The first vampire takes this opportunity to deck him.

Angel wipes his mouth and stares at the blood on his hand. Swiping it to the floor, he looks up to glare at the vampire that dared to strike him. Slowly and menacingly, he slips into his vampire face. Oh yeah. I'm not afraid for him anymore.

**_Bring on the popcorn._**

He's pounding that first vampire that hit him to the ground. And whirling around with a round-house kick, he's sent a dozen more crashing. With a few well-placed punches and kicks, the rest of the vampires bowl over. And the first of the vampires goes poof.

Pretty soon, all that's around him is sawdust flying everywhere and his trench coat flapping in the light wind like some glorified dark super hero.

God, what a great show. This is the first time I pray to the Powers That Be for an encore.

As if he senses me watching him, he turns to look right at me and all I see is his face, as it reverts back to normal.

And suddenly all I see is Groo's face peering down at me.

Groo calls me princess and asks me if I'm okay. I realize that I'm burning to a crisp in the open sun, so I quickly duck under the umbrella and lather on some sunscreen. When I'm done, Groo is still gazing at me with that puppy-dog look of his and asks me if he can do anything for me. And squinting my eyes at him and the sun, his face obscured in shadow, I tell him to kiss me.

His lips are warm and plush as they press up against mine. The feel of his hair is soft and I can't get enough of running my hands through it. And it might be my imagination, but even though he's tender and tastes sweet, I'm hearing a growl coming from the bottom of his throat.

Breathless, I break the kiss and keeping my eyes closed for a moment, savour it. Slowly, I open them again and stare into those wonderful, strange eyes of Groo.

And I feel vaguely disappointed.

I try to bury this and hide it by flashing him a Cordy-rific smile and patting his head. I don't want to be around him anymore, so I get up and tell him that I'm going for a swim. Before he can ask to join me, I get up and walk away.

I'm confused. I wanted Groo to be someone else. But not just any someone, because I wanted him to be my hero. These thoughts are running through my head and I can't get them to stop.

When I reach a spot where no one else is, I head towards the water. Diving in, I open my eyes to a world of deep blue and murky green. Not caring what this will do to my hair, I stay underwater.

That's when the second vision comes to me.

The sun is shining in this one. I'm watching several people in a funeral. Some of them, I recognize. Peering closer, I realize that I know all of them. Willow. Xander. Lorne in a funny hat and trenchcoat. But no Wesley, Fred, Gunn, Connor, or Angel. When I see my parents, I know whose funeral we're watching. Oh please say I'm wrong.

But the headstone says my name. Coming up to it, I gaze down at my body lying in a coffin, hangs folded on my chest. My hair is long again, my face is only slightly lined with laugh grooves and forehead wrinkles. I look good in my advanced years but I'm dead.

In the cool depths of the ocean, my blood runs cold.

I can't come out of the water yet. There's one last image my vision wants me to see. Looking under the shadows of a tree, I finally see him. My Angel.

Only it's not him. He's grown older. He looks tired. He's beautiful. He's human.

Gasping, I emerge from my watery grave and push the hair out of my eyes. I tumble back onto the dry sand and with grains of salt clinging to my body, frantically stumble my way back. I have to get to a phone.

Groo immediately comes to my side, asking what he can do to assist me. As he asks, the sudden pain of a frightening vision hits me. I'm watching, horrified, as some man with long, wavy brown hair is holding my baby and jumping through some fiery portal. And Angel is lying on the floor, helpless and in so much pain.

I have to go back to him. I tell Groo to call me a cab.

We've been on the road for ten minutes now, and still, my visions won't stop. I see flashes of death for everyone I love and trust every window I look out of. Wesley bleeding to death on the cold pavement. Fred and Gunn surrounded by a crowd of vampires. Connor, my beautiful baby, in agony. And always, the face of my sweet Angel. I have no idea how we can prevent this.

Groo notices me huddled against the car door, shivering. He calls me princess to get my attention, but I can't hear him.

Another vision has hit me.

A demon is talking with a stranger in a dark cloak. The stranger stands over the crib where my baby is sleeping. She's placing a cool, calm hand on a very dark Angel.

I look towards Groo at his third call. I tell him that I'm being sent a message, and I just need to be left alone. I know he is hurt, but I can't be concerned about him anymore. We're driving along a long, dark stretch of highway with practically no lights and even fewer cars.

And these visions keep on rolling.

This one is of a memory from a long time ago. An Irish father is teaching his young boy to fear demons, witches, monsters under the bed and things that go bump in the night. An older version of the boy is learning to disobey his father. And a young man in Galway, with the face of my Angel, is meeting a beautiful stranger for the first time.

The next vision practically overlaps the last one.

The stranger is shying away from Angel. She will not show her face, but I've never seen her before and he will not recognize her right away. She promises to protect his son.

And then the visions cease.

I cross my arms and hold my hands to my triceps. They're still freezing cold, so I'm rubbing them, in hopes that I'll generate some warmth. We've reached the exit to get into L.A. now.

That's when the last vision appears.

But this one is not scaring me. And my blood is no longer freezing. If anything, it's the exact opposite.

A hand is gently caressing my face. I feel fingers tangling themselves in my hair. I hear a sob I've never heard before and will never hear again.

My face is flush with emotion as I comfort him because he needs me. His bare back feels like hot coals under my cool fingers. My touch is light and tender, and my heart is bleeding because he is experiencing unendurable heartache. I'm kissing his forehead, his eyelids, and whispering that I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving him, not ever again.

He's whispering back that he'll never let me go again.

His hand moves to trace my lips as my hands grasp his strong shoulders. His soft, sorrow-filled brown eyes are searing into mine. He's memorizing me, one line, one curve at a time. And though he doesn't need them, his short, quick breaths are matching mine.

Effortlessly lifted in the air, I'm now encompassed by strong arms and a broad, smooth chest. As I'm gently placed on a soft surface, I'm lifting my shirt over my shoulders, pushing my skirt down my legs.

I should be taken aback by this. What are we doing? What am I doing? How could I not have expected this? Should I continue, knowing the risks?

I should be afraid of this. Only, there's no fear of perfect happiness today.

Guiding me to lie on my back, I feel a firm hand on my shoulders, another at my waist. I reach my hand up to run through his thick, spiky hair. Soft, sensual kisses are running along my neck and breasts, lips are brushing the hollow of my throat. His nose is nuzzling mine, breathing in my scent as I breathe in his. When our lips finally meet, there is no hesitation, no tentative exploration, just unrelenting passion. It is a release of something that has built up on both sides for far too long. As lips plunder mine, his tongue probes past my swollen lips and begins caressing mine. And his hands are now touching me everywhere, marking me his forever.

I've never felt like this before. This might not be perfect happiness but it's as close as I've ever gotten to it. I fear that I'll never feel like this again.

As I lift my legs to straddle his waist, and he slides into my warmth, I hear him ask me, almost with regret, how he's ever going to stop himself from touching me again.

I awaken suddenly to find myself in front of the Hyperion.

When I turn to Groo, not knowing what to say, he smiles at me gently, sadly, and brushes a tear aside. Was I really feeling guilt before this moment? But I'm thankful that he understands now and I don't have to say anything at all.

Without a moment to spare, I'm running up to the Hyperion and pushing past its doors. Staring in disbelief at the disarray and absolute destruction of the place, I can hear the intense pounding in my eardrums. As I sweep across the lobby, frantically searching for him, I feel the agonizing shattering of my heart. Finding the downstairs completely empty, I fly up the stairs, and breathless, pause in the doorway of his room.

He is almost naked, huddled in his corner, staring at nothing.

Immediately, I am crouched at his side, my arms wrapped around his bare back, his face buried in my neck. When I whisper to him, and kiss his face, he gazes at me with adoration and something I have never seen looking into anyone else's eyes before. Something I will probably never allow myself to see in his eyes again.

As I encompass him, offering shelter from himself for only one night, he asks me how he'll be able to live on knowing that he can never be with me again. I tell him that this night will have to last a lifetime of nevers.

Yet in the light of day, when it's all over, I am reminded of the promise of an angelic figure at my funeral shrouded in shadows. I awaken to tell him that never isn't in my vision.

  


~~X~~X~~ * ~~X~~X~~

  


A/N: I considered having this as a standalone story because I really wish this happened. Bear with me, please, I'm a romantic. :)   
Disclaimers: If I owned it, would I be writing stories about it for the world to read? Don't answer that. 

  


(c) March 25, 2002   
  
Liked this story? Check out my other fanfics at http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=169482   
Thanks for reading! In pursuit of improvement and to keep the 'spirits' up, how about writing some feedback? 


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